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Blue all over

David Blake

Boating dock bassinet.
I lay on my back, and watch the stars
slowly skewer the hues.
The moon drains the ocean gray
as she spat seeds of doubt
upon my skin
and I feel blue all over.

The northwest winter reaches through me
ringing in the murky gray.
An empty stomach reminder to tell myself to control
the things I can.
Monochrome memories drift from its depths.
She holds my head and shakes it
like a magic eight ball,
aching for answers.

My reply is no
I did not eat dinner.
A voice unheard to a fork full of food held above my head.
It was my fault that the door was locked and
I had to wait outside.
You have every right not to trust me with a key
since six years ago I forgot to wipe down the counter
when I was home alone.
I’ll do better next time.
Ask again later
for the response I want.
and thank you for an indoor voice.
Tonight I could hear you over the tremors.
Your eyes told stories of cracked lamp shades and broken bulbs.
As I see it, yes
I wince when I walk into your house.
Home isn’t where my heart is, or
where I feel the safest.
It is where I sleep most nights.

But blue is the warm summer sky,
the three day old muffin,
the same mechanical pencil that graduated with me,
the check book that somehow held more money than I ever seen;
blue is the comforting predictability of rage.
Glass shatters at the same decibel as your demands.
Knowing how to navigate through a storm is not the same thing as stability.

Blue is the the same coast from a thousand miles away,
and the knowledge that no matter how far I swim there will always be a tether;
a knot of anxiety clogging my arteries
and making my heart beat thick like a bass drum.
Blue is the ocean air that wraps around me like a blanket-
a longing for a common form of comfort-
and I would not wish it on anyone.

I stare up at the skewered sky
as the cold forces me inside
and I feel blue all over.

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